The Fry-Up
by Slantaholic
Summary: Vimes and Stoker Blake plan breakfast. Spoilers for Raising Steam as I attempt to rewrite the Iron Girder attacks from Vimes' and Vetinari's points of view. Contains non-graphic slash. First few chapters contain cooking fluff; action later.
1. Bacon

Vimes went into the stoker's van; his gaze lingered on Stoker Blake, who got up rather awkwardly using his shovel like a cane.

"Sir," whispered Vimes, "I've got a small favour to ask."

"Why, Mister Vimes, I'm so chuffed. What is it that you want so early this morn?"

Vimes grabbed him by the arm and dragged him off the footplate and nearer to the furnace.

Stoker Blake automatically leant on his shovel, and pulled down his cap.

Vimes said, "I'm not used to seeing you without a beard."

Stoker Blake raised a sooty eyebrow. "I can barely contain my excitement. What is it that you want that's interrupting my… break?"

Vimes grinned, and produced a thin rasher of bacon from inside his coat.

"What do you say to a little light breakfast, sir?"


	2. Eggs

"What's that?" Stoker Blake tugged his cap further over his eyebrows till his eyes were shielded from the sun.

Vimes grinned. "We've got eggs. White ones."

Stoker Blake sighed. "I can't cook eggs in a shovel without fat. The men will be scraping it out for hours."

Vimes said, "You mean, they clean for you?"

Stoker Blake shrugged. "I don't know how to scrub pots," he admitted. "Strange, yet true. It's not a skill I've normally had to apply in running the city."

Stoker Blake was resting against the wall. Vimes perched on the opposite edge of the stoker's cabin.

He sighed. "Just cook the white eggs whole in their shells."

"Hm. We could boil them in the caddy." He sounded dubious of his own ability.

Vimes got him to jut his shovel out. It was the same shovel as last time. He broke one egg in it before Stoker Blake yanked it back.

"Hold it close, like the bacon," he advised. "If it bubbles, it's mine. If it explodes, it's yours, sir."

Stoker Blake gave in. At last Vimes could teach something back.


	3. Pizza

Vimes pulled his arm and held him close.

"Hash browns?" asked Stoker Blake hopefully.

"We've had hash browns this morning." Vimes frowned. "We all had hash browns."

"Yes, but they would come already cooked."

The shovel had burnt bits of egg stuck on since yesterday.

"Well?" asked Stoker Blake.

GOOD MORNING.

Vimes gave a wan smile to a grinning Death, who was eyeing the open breakfast package.

"I haven't got all day," hinted Stoker Blake. "Oh, there it is."

"Still in character, sir?" muttered Vimes. "Ah."

"It appears we have 'pizza'."

"No, sir. That's how Detritus grabbed the food. It went through the Piecemaker first." Vimes coughed. "What have you got against pizza? It's easy to cook."

Death stalked over to the package. CAN I JOIN IN?

Vimes said, "I can't teach everybody! It's bad enough with Blake."

"Who are you talking to? Oh!" he said as Vimes whispered through his cap. "Uh, I don't think… I could cook…"

I CAN. I WORKED AT HARGA'S HOUSE OF RIBS.

Vimes pinched himself to make sure he wasn't dreaming.

7

Death, it seemed, was a perfect chef.

Stoker Blake looked dazed. It had all happened very fast. Vimes had sealed them off in the cabin at the very end of his morning shift. He was half-starved.

"Thank you," he said as his pizza slices arrived on a metallic plate.

Vimes looked disgruntled as a mathematically measured pizza slice flew towards him. He took it and cheese burned over his hand.

Death, to Vimes, looked awkward. He pulled a beige hourglass out of his robe.

I HAVE TO LEAVE NOW, he said, and walked through the cabin wall to hover outside wearing his self-made chef's hat. The train left him behind.

"That was interesting," said Stoker Blake, dabbing at his mouth with his handkerchief. "Does that happen often?"

"You tell me." Vimes pushed the shovel into the furnace to sterilise it, uh no, to burn the crusty bits further. He picked them off with his sword, and ate one.

Stoker Blake leaned forward, and with the same corner of his hanky, wiped the cheese from Vimes' hand.

"Thank you." Vimes looked down and smiled. "I could teach you toasted cheese sandwiches next."

Stoker Blake sighed. "As you wish. Meanwhile, I have a shift to end."

Vimes pulled out a cigar and lit it with the poker.


	4. Sausage

Stoker Blake yanked Vimes into a shadowy corner that smelt of cheap liquor and perfume.

Vimes grinned. "Getting used to walking off the train again?"

Stoker Blake brushed Vimes down. "You can't talk to people covered in grass," he hissed. "What did you _do_?"

"Oh, investigating a disturbance. But it was a sheep I prodded with my truncheon," he added.

"You and Fred Colon and Nobby arrested a sheep, I take it?"

"Correct. Now I've got to go and talk to Rhys again," he said, meaning to continue.

"Wearing grass," stated Stoker Blake. "Turn round."

Stoker Blake stopped brushing him down and starting picking bits out of his hair.

Vimes started laughing. He faced him, and clutched at his upper arms.

"Yes, Vimes?" Stoker Blake peeled a last grass blade from his left temple.

"You could do something more interesting than stand at the back with your shovel, sir. Come with me."

"You can hardly take a furnace stoker into a, a meeting hall without a few good shadows available. The cap doesn't cover every eventuality."

Vimes sighed. "Come with me. I'll buy you a hotdog."

Stoker Blake crossed one leg behind the other. "You like bribing me with food."

"I don't bribe anyone," said Vimes. "It's a sausage. They're quite good for the area."

"Hm." Stoker Blake unwound his leg and shifted his weight around.

Vimes paused. "Leg giving you trouble?" He offered his arm, laughter still surrounding his facial features.

"So kind," said Stoker Blake and accepted it.


	5. Mouthwash

Stoker Blake slipped out of the meeting hall appointment, largely because he needed to clean his shovel. It still had bits of breakfast stuck to it; also, he needed coffee, or sweet tea, or something to get rid of the taste of the local sausages.

He'd forgotten to pack mouthwash. He'd forgotten to pack lots of things because he was sleeping amongst the men, two to a cabin, and he'd had to switch beds due to sheer worry. He'd found someone nicely introverted who didn't snore, and smiled at him when he woke up.

His sleeping partner was also quite dim in the spectacle department and hadn't recognised his true identity yet. He worked as an engineer, and smelled of soap not grease. He liked gears a lot, and then Stoker Blake had to tune him out, except it was getting harder now.

Stoker Blake suspected he was falling in love.

His breathing had gotten softer; Vimes was friendlier to him than they'd ever been in their entire lives; and he'd gotten used to his spy persona again.

His sleeping partner was due off shift soon, and they would have some more time together.


	6. Fall

"Well?" Vimes sounded like he was glaring at him.

Stoker Blake wound himself into a dark corner and raised both eyebrows, masked by the cap. He felt a hand around his ankle, and looked down to see Vimes hanging on tightly.

He quickly grabbed him by the hand and dragged him back onto the train. Vimes lay on the floor, then got up on one knee. Stoker Blake dragged him upright. "What-what happened?" Vimes was pale.

"I damn well fell off, didn't I?" The whole train jolted. Vimes regained his balance. His hand went to his swords. He was wearing two now, since alerted of imminent attack.

Stoker Blake jammed down the rising adrenaline inside of himself. He picked up his shovel out of weeks of using the tool.

"Put that thing down," said Vimes, still pale. "The last thing I want is breakfast." He shakily gripped the side of the cabin, breathing fast, sword ready.

Stoker Blake wielded it and spun it perfectly. Vimes wasn't watching, and therefore wasn't impressed. So he quickly stoked the furnace until it was up to a roaring heat. The gauge was impressed.

"There," mumbled Stoker Blake and stood back.

Facing frontward, Vimes clambered up onto the top of the train, sword clutched in one fist. The wind blew his helmet off, and it clanged down by Stoker Blake's feet, and rolled off under the train. The train screeched until the helmet buckled under the wheel. Sparks flew up. Blake hung onto the side and looked towards the engine. A checked flag wove, half-knitted by enthusiasts.

Stoker Blake tucked his shovel by the handle up under his belt, strapped to his thigh.

He climbed out onto the running plate and, hand-over-hand, made his way to the engine cabin. Dick Simnel was there.

He looked shocked when Stoker Blake dropped down.

"Has it started yet?" Stoker Blake asked. He wiped his already sweating face with his sleeve.

The temperature gauge trembled. Dick said, "What's been happening?" and pulled the whistle. Steam billowed out for a long moment.

"Vimes half-fell off the train, but he's by the front fender now, armed and dangerous."

"Where's that Moist Lipwig?" He called for an assistant. "Go get Moist!"

Stoker Blake examined his fingernails, feeling left out.


	7. Rat

The grag watched the train from atop the mountainslide. Rocks were trembling from the blast, and the soldiers were trying to find a clear foothold.

Inside the cave, Ardent swept a speck of mortar from a paper scroll and continued studying. The grag outside wished for a darker sky, but the Dwarf Gods weren't listening, and Tak remaining of them all, was probably eating a rat.

Faint wispy clouds passed under an unknowningly cold blue sky. A whistle blew.

7

Stoker Blake ran down the length of the sleeping compartment until he spotted the extra-thick spectacles atop a pratical pile of books. His boyfriend slept with a pillow per usual over his head.

He halted, and walked softly forward. He shook him awake.

"Hwah?"

"Wake up," he hissed. "It's starting, I think."

"Hwhoo? Oh, it's you."

"It's _me_."

"Who-who's around?" He peered short-sightedly around their tightly curtained cabin.

Stoker Blake kissed him, and as per usual, got a slight wet tongue for his trouble. He helped him pull clothes on, and handed him a dagger. "Use this. It's better than a spanner if you have to defend yourself."

"You're going to fight? To save the King, the city, and Iron Girder?" He blinked owlishly.

"I had to haul Vimes back onto the train," he said, feeling dandy and full of ginger.

"Did you get his autograph?" He kissed Stoker Blake on the cheek. "Well done!"


End file.
